


Everything Loki does is for a reason

by WillJ



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:49:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillJ/pseuds/WillJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif and the Warriors Three are being honored at a feast.  At a time when celebratory stories are told about the heroic four, not all tales show them at their best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Attempting to fill prompt.
> 
> Takes place after Avengers and TDW with the following changes: Frigga did not die during Dark Thor; Thor did not chose to stay on Earth; though Loki returned to Asgard, he wasn’t successful in taking Odin’s place

Thor beamed proudly as his mortal friends gawked at the palace. It was satisfyingly agreeable to finally be on familiar ground and not in the mortal realm where nothing made sense. “Come, my friends, allow me to escort you to your rooms!” Eagerness lent an extra bounce to his steps as he waved aside the guards and servants to personally show his mortal friends them their rooms himself. Silently he laughed to himself at his playacting a servant.

However, as they approached the wing they were to stay in, the same wing as Thor, it was Clint that came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the sneering Trickster. Face darkening, he gave a growl reminiscent of the Hulk at his finest. “What’s he doing here? I thought he was in the dungeon, maybe being tortured,” he snarled in a low voice.

Thor looked over, his own face darkening along with the rest of his mortal friends and his Lady Jane as well as the Lady Darcy. “Mother and Father, in their great mercy, has chosen to allow him to attend this celebration honoring the Warriors Three and the good Lady Sif, if only to show him the path to righteousness.” Said stiffly, it was clear Thor heartily did not agree with his royal parents. He was meanly glad to see the sneer vanish from his brother’s face to be replaced by a scowl. 

“Everything my father does is for a reason,” he remarked while staring at the closed door where Loki used to be. “At least, that is what mother tells me.”

“The fucker should be locked up! Whatever happened to the good ole days when you dripped poison in his eyes?” Fury wanted to know. Feet planted, a black scowl firmly on his face, he presented a truly imposing sight to the servants assigned to the wing. Their mouths opened and closed, refusing to come one step further. 

The king with his gimlet stare was bad enough, now there was another one…and mortal?

Thor glared savagely at his brother’s door. “He shall not bother you,” he intoned ominously, “Both father and mother have laid spells upon him that all harm to another will rebound back upon him tenfold.” Said with grim relish, it was clear Thor was done making excuses for his brother.

Steve frowned at the door. “Since when has your brother’s eyes been green?” 

Clint froze, exchanging a horrified glance at Natasha’s sympathetic face. Silently he groaned, understanding dawning.

Behind his door, Loki’s face was blank as he listened to the mortals and his brother tromp past. Green eyes glittered like rare jewels in the ivory hue of his face. 

Slowly his hands clenched. 

On the floor, tiny drops of red stained the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some terms to explain in relationship to rank:
> 
> Jarl = Earl  
> Karl = Duke  
> Hauldr = Count  
> Thegn = Baron  
> Landman = farmer on any of the above's land  
> Thrall = slave

The king and queen sat in smiling, calm splendor upon their thrones with their sons beside them. While there was cheers and smiles aplenty for Asgard’s golden prince Thor, the only thing Loki received was barely veiled sneers and sleek smiles of covert malice.

His face was calm and remote. He could have been a statue for all the notice he gave anyone. He sat when his family sat, he ate what was put in front of him and not once did he meet anyone’s eyes.

Thor frowned at the food on his brother’s plate and opened his mouth to complain. A plate of his favorites was placed in front of him. Eyes widening and instantly distracted, he fell to eating heartily of the rare delicacy. 

Odin stood, his imposing figure instantly causing silence to spread through the rowdy crowd of well-wishers. Frigga glanced at her husband, a serene smile on her face. The Avengers, not quite used to something like this, nudged one another. Thor once again beamed his whole-hearted approval to his Asgardian friends as he wrapped an arm around his Lady Jane’s shoulders as he turned to gaze upon his father.

“We are here, honoring the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif for their peerless defense against Malekith the Accursed and his Dark Elves.” He extended his hand to which Frigga lightly gave him her own. Odin gently kissed the pale, delicate digits with a rare show of tenderness. 

Unseen, Loki rolled his eyes. Without a change to her loving, supportive expression, Frigga reached over and pinched him. “It is through their efforts that my dear Lady, our beautiful Queen and All-Mother stands.”

At this, Loki’s head shot up, an outraged expression darkening his face. His mouth flattened into a thin line but the cold look of displeasure on Odin’s face made the Trickster visibly choke. Everyone laughed at the sight of the famed Silvertongue finally silenced. None more cruelly or louder than Thor and his Asgardian friends. 

Jane glanced sidelong at Thor with a faint look of disquiet in her eyes. She remembered what Loki had done for Thor, how he had fought to protect her—and how he had sacrificed himself to keep Thor safe. 

She frowned at her plate, thinking deeply. 

They had been here several days. Days in which she had heard quite a bit about the ‘blight on the Realm Eternal’. It had taken her some time to realize they were talking about Loki. 

Choking on nothing, Loki fumbled for his cup but Thor knocked it over. It was clearly deliberate as Thor had to almost stand to lean over the table to do so. 

Both Darcy and Jane gaped at him. He pretended not to see the looks they gave him. 

The Warriors Three guffawed louder at the sight of a discomforted Loki. 

Frigga gave Thor long, level look, holding his eyes as she gave her cup of wine to her youngest. Gratefully Loki gulped the wine, liquid he generally avoided like the plague as he hated its effect on his mind. Still it did the job of soothing the dryness in his throat.

Thor fumed in awkward silence as he stared angrily at his mother.

Tony leaned over to where Clint sat glaring at Loki. “A mother can love anything and anybody.” He nodded sagely where the queen was gently ministering to a clearly embarrassed Loki.

Across the room, a minor lord rose to his feet, his tankard in his hand. “A toast to Lord Fandral,” he cried loudly. “I owe him a great deal, for without him, my son would not be where he is today!”

Tankards rose eagerly as a rousing cheer went up. Thor flushed, beaming with pride for his friend. Volstagg clapped Fandral heartily on the back while Hogun allowed a tiny smile to touch his lips. Fandral frowned, head cocked to the side as he glanced narrowly at the man. A familiarity teased at his mind.

Odin was still standing, smiling with good cheer. “And your name good sirrah?” he asked politely.

“My name is Lord Ingar, of the Mintoe Keep,” the man stated clearly, a half-smile on his lips as he watched Fandral. “My son was Agmundr, he trained directly under Fandral.” 

The room went instantly silent, hushed whispers quickly making its rounds. Even the servants pouring mead froze the way a rabbit would at the shadow of an eagle overhead. 

The humans frowned in puzzlement. Thor’s face darkened, he glared at Loki who own eyes had widened in astonishment. Ominous thunder rolled in the distance, signaling the prince displeasure with his brother.

Odin’s face was wiped of all emotion. He inclined his head stately. “We heard of your son’s…passing.” Again came a hissing of whispers. 

Steve leaned towards one of the warriors that treated him fair. “What’s going on?”

The man grimaced and waved a hand dismissively. “Base rumors…” He glared at Lord Ingar angrily. “Slander, he is fortunate that a good man like Lord Fandral has chosen to ignore his slanderous tongue.” Which was what Fandral was doing, holding his hands on both Volstagg and Hogun’s shoulders.

“Sir, from your tone you seem but to have quarrel with good Lord Fandral,” Frigga stated in a gentle though carrying voice. “State you plain or please be excused.”

Lord Ingar widened his eyes, an honestly aghast look on his face. He bowed to the stone-faced Odin and gentle queen then spread his hands, an apologetic look on his face. “I give thanks every day for Prince Loki. Had it not been for his determined efforts to minister to my son, I would have lost my child far too soon. Prince Loki allowed my son to die in glorious battle, with full honors! Even now, tales of my son’s glorious deeds make their rounds in scrolls of the worthy. I will see my son in Valhalla. For that, I owe a debt I will never be able to repay.” The man’s eyes glistened wetly as he bowed low to Loki. “As to quarrel with Lord Fandral? All know of Lord Fandral prowess with his sword, which is only exceeded by Lord Hogun’s weapon to which Lord Fandral readily gives way. And all know Lord Hogun stands ever stiffly behind Lord Fandral at the ready.”

This time it wasn’t only Loki that choked. Hands reached quickly for cups of wine as several women hid knowing smiles behind hastily raised fans. 

Tony blinked and blinked again. “Okay, I totally got that one.”

“Holy shit!” Darcy muttered and eagerly propped both elbows on the table. From day one, she thought Fandral was a total douche. It was good to have confirmation.

Hogun surged to his feet, a rare look of rage on his usually expressionless face. “Say you plain or meet me in battle,” he growled dangerously. 

Momentarily pain and malice were in equal measure in Lord Ingar’s eyes before vanishing behind bland goodwill. He turned appealing eyes to King Odin. “My king, I speak plain and honest in my praise of Lords Fandral and Hogun. All know of their…” here he paused, “close friendship. Why, Lord Fandral even gifted a mare to Lord Hogun that he does rides most vigorously before sleep.” 

The room erupted in yelling and shouts of outrage. Loudest was Thor’s voice, shouting imprecations alleging of the man’s vile dishonor.

“ENOUGH!” Surging to his feet, Odin’s roar nearly shook the room. Summoning his staff of kingship, he banged Gungnir on the floor, commanding silence. He turned a cold stare on Lord Ingar. “I think, perhaps, Lord Ingar your keep calls for your urgent attention.” An order that none mistook for a suggestion. 

Lord Ingar’s jaw worked as he met his king’s gimlet stare. Finally he inclined his head. “As you say…” Gathering himself, he nodded to several men, holding their eyes as they solemnly nodded in turn before turning and leaving the Great Hall. Odin sensed there was more to these men that what was visible to the naked eye. He made note of the four men, he would further delve into their backgrounds.

Odin forced a smile to his face as he sat down again. “Perhaps we can have more cheerful news. With less excitement, of course.” He had a rueful smile on his face that made people laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony glanced at the man on his left. Uh, oh, he thought amusedly. Steve has his thinking face on. It was true that Steve was thinking. This wasn’t the first story of Loki he had heard since they had gotten here. He had, in fact, overheard two guardsmen discussing Loki two days ago. The guards’ careful talk had painted an entirely different picture of Asgard’s mischievous youngest prince. From quite a few, there was restrained affection from the servants and guards. Even more telling, the visibly wide smiles on their faces around Thor never quite matched the careful look in their eyes. 

There was a dichotomy at the table that countered the impression he was getting. He gave Natasha a look and received a raised brow in return, then an exasperated slide of her eyes to her left. 

Oh. Then his eyes widened. OH. 

The spy rolled her eyes and huffed. Men…they are all such idiots. Sif gave the human a commiserating glance to which Natasha responded with a smile that looked real. Clint gave his long-time friend a look and rolled his eyes. 

Idly he was kinda hoping Tasha did gut someone as all these fucking warrior types were getting on his damn nerves. He laughed silently at one posturing fellow that had condescendingly tried to explain to him why bows and arrows were only good for hunting. None of these fuckers would last a minute on Earth before getting their heads blown off. If this is what Loki had to deal with growing up, no wonder he snapped. 

Shoulda went all Reindeer Games on them instead of us, he thought nastily. 

“Well, I have news, though it is, I must confess, it is not that exciting,” Lord Alfhidr called out with a half-smile on his seamed and lined face. An advisor to the king, he was often a vocal opponent of Odin’s edicts. Though generally on opposite sides of just about any decision, not many realized the fierce respect that existed between the two men. Odin valued the man’s opinion because it forced him to think. 

In fact, he put Alfhidr’s opinion on level with Frigga’s.

Odin leaned back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. “What is it, old man?” 

Volstagg choked on his ale. Thor looked over Jane’s head at his friend in concern.

Alfhidr smiled though his pale, wintery grey eyes had darkened to near black. “Why, my dear Gulla was expecting a child.” With that bombshell exploding silently, he calmly continued eating. Though there was some savagery in the casual way he ripped a piece of meat off the bone. Several women grimaced and looked determinedly at their plates as did their men. No one wanted to say what was on their minds…that Lord Alfhidr was long past the age of siring children. 

Odin looked incredulously at his oldest son when Thor gave a delighted laugh at the news. “That is good news, is it not Volstagg?” he exclaimed, looking down the table at his large friend. Thor looked guilelessly back at old, sinewy Lord Alfhidr with eyes full of good cheer. “Why, we must have brought you great luck when Volstagg and I stayed with you that fortnight!” Odin scrubbed his face, sitting in fuming silence as he manfully refrained from muzzling his son. 

He looked sidelong at Loki, for the first time wondering if this was what his younger son went through with Thor.

“Truly we were lucky,” the old, canny advisor replied drily. He looked at the golden prince with veiled eyes before looking at pale Volstagg and shook his head dolefully. “It was most unfortunate that after my dear lady wife tearfully told me of such glad tiding, she fell down the stairs in the night. Why, my dear lady wife nearly broke her neck.” More than one pair of eyes fell on Alfhidr’s big, raw-boned hands and winced. “She was black and blue for weeks, she now has a horrible scar on her face.” 

Sick, frozen silence gripped the diners. There was no doubt as to how Gulla lost her child as scarring the face of a faithless wife was something done in Alfhidr’s generation.

Odin stared coldly at Lord Alfhidr who stared back, neither giving an inch. The king’s lips flattened to a thin, bloodless line. Silence rippled out from him, spreading down the table as the two men held each other stare. 

Finally the lanky old lord grudgingly lowered his stare. Volstagg nervously guffawed in the silence. It was a terrible misstep on his part. As an old, skillful court in-fighter, Lord Alfhidr had scuttled the thriving aspirations of many arrogant, pretentious men and women alike. And none brought low by him had ever risen again. 

Loki had gotten on the bad side of the canny, old Asgardian once. 

That one time was enough. 

The old man proved wily enough to humble even a prince of the realm. Loki had walked warily around the old lord ever since, and much like Odin, he held a grudging respect and reluctant fondness for the old Asgardian. 

With the delicacy of a master cook, Lord Alfhidr layered his words with utmost care to cause the most destructive effect. Truth be told, Loki had quietly studied the old Asgardian for many years before attempted the same and gained the title of Silvertongue. The only reason why no one did the same to Lord Alfhidr was because the old man was far too powerful to rile up unnecessarily…not if one wanted to continue among the living.

He looked at a discomforted Volstagg, feigning bright interest. No one at the table was hardly fooled. Food forgotten, they sat watching the lively entertainment. 

“Did ye not come to give unto Lord Amund and Birgir wergild for allowing some fat bull to lay upon a couple of their prized virgin cows? I hear tell they used the wergild to enable their worthy daughters to marry a couple of fine upstanding young husbands.”

Sharp, yellow tinged teeth flashed. The teeth had been a gift from Loki that he had labored long and hard to make. 

As an act of contrition, it had been well accepted.

A bone between his teeth, Lord Alfhidr cracked it in half and noisily sucked the marrow from the bone. Eyes bright and coldly curious, he watched Volstagg pale. 

A long-time companion to Thor in many adventures, Volstagg was surprisingly quick, mentally and physically, despite his voluminous size. His eyes turned wintery. Lips curled upwards in a nasty smile that many rarely ever saw. “Oh…? Did not they birth early?” 

The women at the table stilled then as one, they turned cold, condemning eyes on him. It was one thing for women to talk amongst themselves, but woe to any man that ventured into a women’s matters.

One notable dame, a rigid stickler to prosperity, looked fairly fit to be tied. Her wattles were shaking with sheer indignation as not only did he slander the young women but herself as well. “For shame, sirrah! Those are good girls! Why, Lords Amund and Birgir sent all three girls yet to my home for fostering. They were escorted by none other than Prince Loki and a contingent Queen Frigga’s handmaidens! The very thought…” she settled with a resentful mutter and sent several heated, angry glares at Volstagg. “They had their children exactly fourteen months to the day they married their husbands!”

The humans alternated between staring hard at Volstagg and even harder at Loki with narrowed eyes. They all trusted Volstagg’s bluff good humor as well as Fandral’s dashing good looks and Hogun’s bland exterior. Trusting their eyes as well as instincts that told them the three men were ‘good’. Natasha was particular displeased as she had to discard all her carefully prepared assumptions about the three men.

And Darcy was pissed because last time they had met, she had tried vainly to get Fandral’s digits. It was Jane who had carefully explained the no phone zone that was Asgard. Which was Kra-Kra to the max. Still they had had a meaningful moment when she first got here. She certainly hadn’t imagined him pulling her into a darkened corner and him hiking up her skirt and leg before going to town on her. 

Now she had the angry impotence of a woman denied a rousing good time. No one could or would ever call Darcy a homewrecker. Clearly their little hookup tonight was off! She was spitefully glad he was squirming in his chair as his boyfriend spoke to him in a low, clearly pissed off tone. 

Meanwhile, Volstagg had paled alarmingly as the trap closed gently around his neck. No true man spoke of such, slurring a lady’s good name. For without her good name, many a woman lacked the wherewithal to garner a good match. It may be alluded to, in the vaguest of manners, naturally—but never outright. 

Loki’s shoulders shook, an odd snorting sound coming from him. 

Thor was silent, his shoulders rigid as he stared determinedly at the table. 

Volstagg craved the dame’s pardon profusely, claiming the perils of listening to idle gossip before descending to a confused stop amid a litany of excuses. Hastily he chugged his wine, turning and berating the wine server for being sluggish in refilling his cup.

“Another piece of good news,” Lord Alfhidr said, perking up. Volstagg nearly wept with silent misery. 

“Did you hear that the young son of Goodman Geir—you know him Prince Thor, he supplies the best mead to most of Northern Asgard,” he said in aside to the table at large, “—has finally woken? He was not yet even a man when some craven fatherless cur savagely beat the child, used him as a woman before leaving his broken body in his father’s cellar some months past. I contacted Prince Loki when I heard of the attack, to see he had some skill in scrying the attacker.” The old man shook his unruly grey head. “However, he said he would make a potion for when the boy awoke.” 

Alfhidr turned his head to Loki with flat, slate eyes. “It had a flower in it…I thought it was extinct.” He fairly shook with the terror and rage he felt upon recognizing the potion. The words he had then used were not fit to address a Prince of the realm, much less a yeoman. Had he had his sword, he would have vigorously applied the flat of his blade on the fool’s buttocks. 

“The Flower of Twinnlight,” Frigga said in a disturbingly soft voice at odds with the look she turned on her son. Steve was hard pressed not to smile as he recognized that look. It was a look that said ‘We will discuss this later, young man”. It was one his mother frequently gave him after some hairbrain idea he and Bucky had. “It only grows in Hel, as the Queen there allows some of the souls there to forget.”

Odin stared opened-mouth at the idiot also known as his younger son. Face suffuse with red, his hand slowly clenched even as his heart nearly stopped. His one eye bulged. 

One misstep and Loki could have been lost. A low, dangerous growl rumbled from his throat. 

Much like guilty children all over, Loki was careful to keep his head down. His shoulders hunched protectively.

“As it so happens, Prince Loki was in the area and it was the work of a minute to concoct a potion for the wee lad. He will not remember the cowardly attack.” Odin choked before eyeing his youngest idiot with a grim stare and grudging approval. Aside for the deadly labor of plucking enough of the plant, avoiding Hel’s guards, avoiding the animal and plant life in Hel there was also the onerous task of concocting the potion. It took at least several months for the potion steep and be effective. 

And it took a skilled MindHealer to select which memories to expunge from the mind. One false step and the entire mind would be erased. 

It was also a skill Loki did not possess. He slid a carefully blank look at his wife. She stared back blandly. Odin closed his eyes and sighed.

Alfhidr looked somber as they all did, most having met the laughing, happy child of the ale maker. 

Especially Thor. More times than not, the bright-eyed boy cajoled him a ride into the sky, laughing with glee. 

Loki looked up, a bland look on his face. “Hogun, did you and my brother not visit Goodman Geir some months past?”

Odin sighed and eyed his goblet miserably before motioning for his cup to be filled. Frigga daintily applied herself to her meal as she looked on, her face calm and serene.

Natasha’s met the queen’s eyes and dipped her head respectfully. The queen inclined her slightly, a faint smile in her eyes. Tony, never too slow on the uptake, opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid. He winced, an inhumanly strong foot applied delicate pressure on his foot. He writhed silently, his face a grimace of pain. “Fine…but he’s still a dick.”

Steve didn’t bother saying anything, applying himself to his meal though there was a grim cast to his mouth. He remembered a quote Peggy had once told him, ‘It is part of a good man to do great and noble deeds, though he risk everything’. 

Hogun looked at Loki, his mouth curving in in a way of one with a secret. “Nay…Prince Loki.” Loki looked blandly amused. He had met the bogeyman…and it wasn’t Hogun.

Thor looked sidelong at his long-time friend, a frown of confusion on his face. 

“We were there, Hogun.” He turned to look at the table, his eyes somber and tired at the revelations about Volstagg. “We left several days before he was found.” He pounded a thick fist into his palm then immediately looked shaken and grief-stricken. “Perhaps had we not argued with Goodman Geir over his wares and departed early, we could have caught the filthy beast that would so cravenly hurt such a wee laughing spirit.” 

A fleeting expression of murderous rage came and went on Hogun’s face before his expression eerily smooth. Tony, who had been watching the guy, was shaken. The only other person he knew that could go from one extreme to the next was the Widow…and he knew what she was, which called into question what Thor’s buddy was.

Before, Thor’s tales of his buddies were just that, stories of bigger than life people having fantastical adventures in mythical faraway places he would never see. And from Thor’s stories, his buddies were all honorable, loyal guys that everyone in Asgard regarded highly. 

He should have known that no one was that great and glorious. 

Clint stared at his plate. Dark memories crowed his mind. A heavy weight on his back, the gruff laughter, rending pain and the red smeared wet stickiness down the backs of his legs when they finally let him go. 

He wished there had been someone to help him forget.


	4. Chapter 4

The Warriors Three—while not as mentally swift on the uptake as say, a certain notorious prankster—were quite capable of following the proverbial breadcrumbs to their source. Cold, angry eyes stared at Loki with silent promises of vicious, painful retribution.

He, through dint of long practice, ignored the idiots. He was faster, smarter and craftier than they could ever imagine. None of them had a hope of catching him.

Sif, though furious, chose the act of quiet restraint though her eyes promised a terrifying vengeance once they were out of the watchful eyes. 

To that, Loki held the woman’s eyes and raised a brow. While he was acutely aware of the warrior maiden’s retributive nature for slights—whether real or imagined—he had been thoroughly schooled while Thanos and the Other’s tender keeping. 

She no longer held sway over him.

Sif held Loki’s eyes, her eyes promising pain. Smirking slightly, she waited for the familiar terror to rise in those green eyes. A slow frown crept over her face as the only emotion visibly was boredom and contempt. Thoroughly discomforted, casually she looked away. 

She puzzled silently over this even stranger new Loki. 

Most of the people at the table were carefully avoiding eye contact with the Warriors Three. Rather than a dinner to celebrate their achievements, it seemed otherwise. Fandral, staring at Loki, suddenly smirked. Stroking the curled ends of his mustaches, his chest puffed slightly. “Perhaps we might remember Fritjof,” he said rather loudly. 

Several people looked at him inquiringly while Loki’s face darkened. There was a cruel edge to smile now on Fandral’s face. Gleb, a stout member of Odin’s council with a rotund stomach, looked at Fandral with a neutral expression. “Why?” 

Fandral frowned at the man. “Why? Because he was a war hero!” His voice rose indignantly. Even Thor looked angry, nodding in agreement, despite the new light he was seeing his ‘friends’. Odin sat back in his chair expressionlessly. The blonde warrior didn’t notice such was his indignation. 

“Despite Loki’s…” Fandral caught himself from calling Loki a filthy, lying coward. He recovered smoothly and pointedly avoided looking in the direction of Loki. “Despite the highly distorted tales from jealous men who could not aspire to his greatness, one cannot argue Fritjof nearly singled-handedly ended the Ogreish predation on the village of Stuttmeyer.”

He looked expectantly around at several of the old campaigners, looking for agreement. 

To a man, they all were stone-face. Much like the crackling of granite, old Gudmund spoke with slow deliberation. “So ye would hav us to call such villagers liars who dost say such Ogres were nay harming them? T’were but Fritjof, who feeling time slippage, did only seek glory for himself by setting fire to the dwellings where the sows and bairns rested?”

Fandral’s eyes narrowed in fury. “Those were lies of a jealous, envious cur,” he snarled, leaning forward threateningly. 

An old campaigner, Gudmund fought in the battle for Midgard against Jotun. He had once been threatened by several Jotun. As Jotun were extremely large, fierce and generally angry beings, he was not ashamed to say he shat his pants. 

Fandral’s show of anger pretty much left him underwhelmed. 

“Nay, son,” he responded calmly. “’Twas several of the village survivors, found by Prince Loki and a squad of soldiers, that told the depraved acts of the idiot Fritjof.”

“Oh, but of course if Loki says it must be so,” Fandral retorted snidely. There was so much sly insinuation in his voice that Thor growled half-heartedly, well used to his brother’s relationship with truthfulness. 

However, it was another worthy individual that effectively silenced the wiry, mustached blonde. 

Three steps brought a large, square-jawed Einjariar—standing guard behind the king’s chair—forward. Like all Einjariar, his eyes were blandly polite. “It is so because ‘twas I that brought word to the king.” Cool brown eyes glanced at Prince Loki, the Einjariar inclined his head slightly before stepping back and resuming his poise of being part of the background.

Fandral’s eyes rounded, his mouth working soundlessly before he slowly slunk back to his chair from where he glared with savage intensity at his plate. 

It would be essentially suicide to question the Einjariar’s statement. 

They were sworn bodily to the king, dispatched upon only the king’s command. To imply a kingsman spoke an untruth was tantamount to calling the king a bold-face liar.

Still, quite a number of people still looked at the dark-haired prince with hidden dislike. All readily remembered their grievances with the malicious prince. 

“Oh, well, you know Prince Loki…” Vidar drawled mockingly, a slight dismissive edge to his voice. A skillful court intriguer, he was well known for his sly wit and ability to insinuate without drawing attention to himself. He preferred to, as he like to call it, ‘stir the kettle with another’s spoon’. 

Steve looked up, his eyes and face utterly polite. Only one close to him would recognize the steely look in his eyes. “Actually, we don’t really know the Prince Loki other than the bit of trouble he caused on our world.”

A silky blonde brow rose as Vidar slowly turned his attention to the human. He eyed the mortal with a vague expression of amazement, as if confronted by a chair speaking disagreeably about someone sitting on it.

Darcy turned to Jane and said in a carrying voice, “Did he just look at Captain America as if he was a piece of shit?”

Vidar’s eyes widened, he alternately paled then flushed an angry red. These fools didn’t know how the game was played. Besides that, they were a guest of the golden Prince, the one with the unruly temper. A long-time player in the court of Asgard, he instantly switched tactics, he ducked his head, his lips curving in a charmingly self-deprecating smile. 

“My apologies, good sirs and ladies,” he inclined his head politely. He ignored the snort from the short, mouthy little quim and simply spread his hands disarmingly. “It’s just that we had some rather…disagreeable aftereffect with Prince Loki’s tricks and pranks.” He allowed his face to shed the amused mien and shaded his voice. “Some of his…tricks are costly.”

“Like what, for example?” Sometimes Steve was like a hound that had caught a scent. What that scent was, Tony didn’t know but he was more than happy to follow his friend’s lead.

Vidar turned to his friend, Torbjorn, a hauldr from the northern providence. “Did you not tell me that Thegn Hakon’s daughter was in a fit of hysterics because Prince Loki killed her dog in front of her? What kind of man kills a child’s beloved pet in front of her very eyes?!” Torbjorn looked discomforted with the sudden attention shown to him. He mumbled inaudibly to the table and vigorously applied himself to his plate.

Thegn Hakon, who was a little further down, looked up upon hearing his name. He wore the diffident expression of a landman entertaining a Jarl. “Do you mean the dog that was infected by the Blood Rage that was attacking my little Magra?” He looked earnestly polite, but at the discomforted look on Karl Vidar’s face, he blinked helplessly in confusion and shrank back, fearing he had done something wrong. While he had no idea why he had been invited to dine at the king’s table, only a madman would decline the invite. 

He leaned forward, looking towards the head of the table at the only person at the table he knew. Clint felt his gorge rise at the near worshipful look on the man’s face. “Prince Loki, did I remember to convey my thanks for saving my Magra’s life? And for the puppy you brought her?” 

Loki looked at the balding, little thegn with a suffused expression. His lips twitched before he managed to control his inclination to laugh. “Yes, you did…many, MANY times.” 

Hakon didn’t notice Loki’s amusement. “Did you know, her older sister Astrid, married but two years ago?! And just made me a grandfather!” He puffed up, looking as proud as a peacock.

Odin looked enviously at the man. If I had a girl I would probably be a grandfather too, he thought belligerently. But noooo, I wanted boys. And I got them, two idiots. One that doesn’t think and one that thinks too Norns damn much, he groused silently. 

Loki’s glinted though his tone was perfectly sober. “Yes, she had sent me an invitation to her wedding.” Hakon’s eyes bugged out, he looked like he was going to faint. 

“I even got to dance with her,” Loki added with a touch of gentle mischief that made the Avengers’ eyes widened. Loki didn’t notice as he poked mild fun at the thegn. “Please give my compliments to your wife and the other ladies of your house, the food was as fine as any meal at the King’s table.” The thegn didn’t dare look at the head table for fear of catching the Queen’s eye. “Your daughter talked me into giving her a puppy from the royal kennels when her child is at least a year old, she desires them to grow together.” 

The man looked positively gob-smacked, awed at his daughter’s audaciousness to wheedle one of Odin’s prized dogs from the kennel. His mouth worked soundlessly. 

“You’re welcome,” Loki said pointedly. There was mischievous laughter in his eyes.

Thegn Hakon nodded senselessly, his expression dazed.

Frigga’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

But Tony was starting smelling something fishy. No way did all these people just ‘happened’ to have funny Loki stories…ones where Loki wasn’t an evil little shit.

Natasha held her wine goblet in both hands, idly rolling it against her palms. She had a bland expression on her face. Having already noted the pattern, now she was just thumbing through her list, trying to figure out the ‘who’ behind this crafted scene. 

And it was well-crafted, she admitted grudgingly. Something I would put together if my assignment was to build my mark’s confidence up. Though I wouldn’t be so clumsy about it, she thought exasperatedly then she paused. Only someone who knew her to that degree could see the frown on the Widow’s face as she had long since learned the art of showing only the emotion she wanted people to see. 

She wondered if, perhaps, whoever crafted this scene wanted it to be obvious, but to who? 

Thor? Almost immediately she dismissed the Asgardian from consideration. Mighty he may be, but it went without saying that he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the room.

But clearly someone wanted them to know that the villainous Loki they knew…was not the same Loki that had lived in Asgard for centuries. She grinned inwardly. Whoever that was, clearly didn’t have much respect for our intelligence. 

Also clear, despite what Thor’s companions said about Loki—how reviled he was, that everyone was wary of his twice-forked tongue, that he was a black-hearted knave—it was clear there were people that had much of a kinder view for the youngest Odinson. A fact that seemed to cause Loki the greatest amount of confusion, if judging by the wary, yet faintly pleased look in his eyes. 

On a separate track, she wondered if it was cause or effect that triggered Loki’s dislocation from Asgard society. She slid a look at Thor, silently taking note of the squint in his eyes. He looked as if he was trying to reconcile in his mind the two versions of his brother. Cynically she wondered if he recognized the role he played in Loki becoming the angry, vengeful man he had become. 

Looking at the dynamics between Loki and Thor’s relationship—and hearing ad nausea from Thor how close they used to be—if she had to pinpoint when the trouble began, it would have been the first time Thor ran off to play…and left Loki behind. 

‘…he is insane because when he loved you, you didn't notice.’ Unnoticed, Natasha sighed. She so hated having to change her profile assessments. She knew better than to base an assessment on only one source.

Jarl Ingeson surged to his feet, his goblet in his hand. His face was alight with goodwill, though when he looked at Loki, his eyes filled with spite. He was long familiar with the Silvertongue’s twisty ways. “Well, I know Karl Ketilson give thanks to Lord Fandral for the life of his son!” For Ketilson, due to his very vocal opposition to the youngest prince’s antics proud and haughty, was a prime target for Loki’s publically humiliating pranks. With each prank, he favored increasingly harsh punishment for the willful prince. 

It was only due to the karl’s prideful, icy demeanor that he virtually demanded the entire court ignore the pranks. 

Fandral looked up, a startled look on his face. Only someone with the intuitive ability to read a person noted the faint look of unease on Fandral’s face. The karl carefully put his eating utensils down on his plate. His face was expressionless. 

“It was nothing really.” Fandral tried to look modest and unassuming, immediately giving lie by stroking the ends of his waxed mustache. 

“Oh, come now, Lord Fandral,” Ingeson boomed jovially. He looked around, a wide smile of approval on his face. “I was there when you stumbled up the hill with young Markus, more dead than alive.” He looked somberly at the goblet in his hand and shook his head. “’Twas many a week did we wait to know whether the boy would live. The river was a savage that day. He took a brutal clout on the head and his lung pierced.” He carefully did not glare at Prince Loki. “All this talk of the prince’s healing ability, a pity he did not come help the healer with the boy, and he but a stone’s throw away.” 

Fandral glanced at Loki and nervously licked his lips. He looked away, laughing airily. “Truly it was nothing,” he said insistently. “Please, do let us speak on another subject.” Tony’s brows rose. Dude sounded kinda desperate. I wonder why, he thought cynically. 

Face expressionless, Ketilson stood up and walked to the head of the table. Tensing as the man drew nearer, Loki looked wary. Abruptly the rigid, haughty Asgardian dropped to one knee and clenched his fist over his heart. 

Thor choked on his drink. 

“Due to his head injuries, my son could barely walk much less talk and only remember what happened in fleeting images. It has only been in the past decade that his words and meaning have joined.” The 

Natasha nodded to herself. She was betting on head trauma. 

Looking up, though his eyes glistening wetly, Ketilson lost none of his haughty bearing. “Markus is the only thing left of my dear lady wife.” He paused before continuing in a steady voice. “I have treated you as unbefitting a royal prince over the years; by word and deed, I treated you less worthy than Prince Thor. As did my son, for he did but mime my attitude. Yet he remembers you dragging him to the shore.” 

There was a low buzz of interest that rippled around the table. People stared. 

At this, Fandral stirred as if in protest before he seemed to shrink into himself. Head down, he diligently applied himself to his meal.

Behind carefully blank eyes, as they served the high table, the servants’ eyes seemed glitter with some manner of suppressed emotion.

Loki blinked rapidly. He looked around as if for someone to rescue him. He looked achingly young and uncertain. “You’re welcome?” Ketilson was abruptly reminded that the Prince was scarcely older than his own son.

One of the servants’ fell into a coughing fit. And face suffused, he had to hurry outside.

Remembering that, his half-smile gentled. “Also, my son wishes to be sworn to your personal service.” 

“Mother…!” Loki immediately turned to his mother, his eyes a little panicky. 

That worthy woman merely smiled composedly at the waiting karl and inclined her head regally. “Shall we discuss this later?”

“By all means, my queen,” Ketilson replied coolly, bowing to the queen and blonde head still held arrogantly high, the tall, burly Asgardian returned to his seat.

It was strange, Clint thought darkly, what everyone was carefully not mentioning. If Loki was the one that actually saved the boy, why was Fandral taking credit?


	5. Chapter 5

From there, it was like a floodgate opened as more stories about Loki spilled about the table and room. 

And there was laughter. So much laughter as stories circulated of his pranks and tricks. 

Growing embolden, one worthy lady rose and extending her goblet towards Sif, in a loud, carrying voice, offered a rousing toast, for her “Tireless 'service' to the royal throne. Always desiring go to her knees, humbling herself before the King’s mighty Staff.”

Sif’s proud smile froze at the burst of ribald laughter that ran around the table. Thor smiled confusedly, not understanding the laughter. Odin looked slightly uncomfortable and avoided Frigga’s flat stare. 

Why she was giving me that look? he thought aggrievedly. He snorted, looking profoundly insulted. As if I would ever…

Frigga expression softened. 

The table and room rang with stories of Loki’s mischief. Stories that had more than one old, bearded grandfather pounding the table, breathless with laughter. Even the servers relaxed enough to hesitantly share stories of their Prince Loki—how he had lightened their load or protected them—even some particularly humorous pranks he had played on them. 

It left Thor feeling overwhelmed and confused. Vague memories of some nameless prank he and Loki had pulled drifted through his mind. An effervescent warmth filled him. Unconsciously he smiled. 

Amid the laughter and goodwill, Sif and the Warriors Three sat with darkening looks on their faces. 

In a face made broad and ruddy by excessive food and drink, Volstagg’s eyes were pig-like, small and tiny. Of all Thor’s friends, Loki had always felt Volstagg was the most dangerous. Porcine, yes, but of the heavily scarred variety that lived deep in the forest. The kind that it took a full hunting party of men, boar spears and dogs to bring down.

“Well, you cannot deny that the beautiful Lady Eilina of Hjalmar was a seidrwoman on the verge of great renown. Though young and beautiful, she was just beginning on her path,” Volstagg stated in a quiet, though carrying voice. 

And just like that, the joviality and congenial air vanished.

Everyone remembered the beautiful, red-headed Lady Eilina of the laughing eyes and voice.

Volstagg remembered more, in a time long past. From the grief-edge fury on his face, it was clear there had been a deeply personal connection to the Lady Eilina. His eyes, when he looked at Loki, still burned with the anguished fury of a man whose lover had been prematurely wrenched from him.

Tony nudged Steve. He leaned over. “I was beginning to think I was the crazy one and Reindeer Games’ sane, you know, all rainbow puppies and other happy shit,” he whispered dryly. Tony nodded at the look of guilt and pain on the Trickster’s fine-boned face. “They look pissed,” he sang softly, indicating the other diners with his chin. Straightening, he happily applied himself to the meal, his world-view back on its rightful axis. 

After all, Loki had thrown him out his own damn window. 

The table was silent and the mood had shifted to grimness. 

More than half the men looked angry, remembering the bright-eyed, laughing, vibrantly alive sorceress. She had been beautiful as well as clever. Never malicious and always ready with a smile or a laughing quip to ease unruly tempers. The women, oddly enough, fixed their eyes on their plates as did some of the men, with sideways, darting looks to their wives.

Natasha’s eyes subtly narrowed even as a tiny smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. So…the women, not quite as passive and powerless as they pretended.

While his experience with women was not quite as great as Tony’s, Steve had learned a thing or two about women over his lifetime. One thing he learned was that to judge the character of a beautiful woman, look to the women around her. 

And these women didn’t look too cut-up that Lady Eilina was gone.

Volstagg gained strength from the angry looks directed at Loki. 

“Loki was her mentor, her master…and he betrayed her most cruelly!” he cried passionately. Tears started in his eyes, he banged a fist on the table making the plates jump and more than one woman yelp in surprise. “She was all that was good and beautiful in the world…and he killed her.” Quiet, cold loathing was in his eyes and voice that length a strange dignity to his pain. 

It was startling to see it from a man much given to coarse, ribald humor. It made his words truly all the more poignant and heart-wrenching.

Loki looked at Volstagg, his face carefully blank. “Is that why you’ve hated me all these years? Because you loved her?”

“You took the most beautiful thing in the world from me, how could I not hate you?” Volstagg looked surprisingly noble though his beard and clothing were stained with food and mead.

Loki simply nodded and returned his attention to his plate.

Volstagg turned to the silently crying woman. “Tell them, Mother of Eilina, tell them of your daughter’s beauty and talent! Tell them how Loki ripped such bright life from Asgard!”

Gelina slowly looked up, her eyes wet with remembered pain and grief. Her mouth crumpled as she struggled to draw breath. “Would that I had the strength of will to have cut her from my womb and throw her to the hounds. It would have been a better death than she deserved!” 

In one of those rare instances where everything is silent, Gelina’s voice was surprisingly loud. It rang, dropping like a stone in the lake. It cast ripples of disquiet and shock through the room. People exchanged disbelieving looks. 

Tony had paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. At that lurid statement, his face screwed up, revulsion twisting his stomach. He tossed his eating utensils down into his plate. He eyed the thick slice of meat mournfully. And it was soooo good, he moaned to himself. He had planned to ask for the recipe and surprise Pepper with a home cooked meal. 

Slowly Volstagg’s head turned. He stared venomously at Loki. “You foul, black-hearted creature!” With that shout, he tried to surge to his feet. His efforts were foiled, his large belly preventing him from a quick escape from the table. 

Heavy and ornate, this table was proof against unruly, angry princes with a penchant for upturning tables. 

Huffing, Volstagg sank heavily back into his chair with a muffled thump. “You twisted her mind, you evil, lying Jotun scum,” he growled low in his throat.

“NAY!” Gelina shouted surging to her feet. Though her face was pale, her eyes glistened wetly with mingled fury and tearing grief. For despite her words, she had loved her child. “He need not give me words for it was I who saw the horror of finding my child playing wife to my husband.” A sob burst from her, tears ran ceaselessly down her face. And she wanted to hurt him…wanted him to know the painful truth about the fen-sucked creature she had unknowingly spawned. 

“You gorbellied, dizzy-eyed coxcomb!” Starting off low and venomous, her voice grew louder, vibrating with rage at the end. “Did she tell you that you had good faces? She gave that lie to many! She was a hobby horse for the right coin!” 

Volstagg looked simultaneously sickened and stunned. His mouth worked but he had no words. 

Loki’s mouth twisted but he remained silent, for like Volstagg, he had almost succumbed to Eilina’s charms. So used to women but using him as a stepping stone to Asgard golden prince, he had been naturally wary that a beautiful woman would profess interest in him. So he acted a love-sick fool but watched her. 

In the end, he had been sickened by her actions. In more ways than one.

“Twas not Loki’s actions that led to Eilina’s death,” Frigga stated quietly. The warmth in her eyes and face dimmed, still her voice was steady as was the eyes as gazing upon Volstagg. Gelina looked away, her shoulders slumping. She covered her face, she knew what the Queen intended to say. 

“The Guild of Mages had been presented with a troubling mystery. A number of people were dying but for no reason our healers could see. They went to sleep and never woke up.”

Bristling, Volstagg looked up angrily, mouth open to angrily declaim what the queen was implying, he wasn’t stupid. But he met Odin’s very patient, very cold stare and mutely he subsided, albeit with a tight jaw and flat stare of his own.

Frigga ignored Volstagg’s sulking, as she did her Loki’s attempts to hush her. “Eventually our findings led to Loki.” 

Volstagg looked around the table, fiercely triumphant. He knew, if one looked far enough, one would find that whoreson, senseless villain.

“But when we entered his room, we found him unable to even rise from his bed. He could only move his eyes, which he did and pointed us to a location in his room.”

The queen shuddered convulsively, her hands spasming on her eating utensils. Odin reached out and put his hand over hers, rubbing them to bring warmth to her. Two of the women at the table abruptly whitened, their faces ghastly pale. Even Odin looked unsettled.

Frigga said with some difficulty, “Eilina used magics long forbidden to all nine realms—Dark Magic combined with Blood Rites. She utilized the Blood Rites to siphon life-force from her victims and Dark Magic to imbue that life-force into herself.”

“Such use of the forbidden arts is an automatic death sentence.” Odin sighed heavily, his face somber. He scrubbed at his face. “Both Dark Magic and the Blood Rites were anathema during my father’s father time and when he ascended the throne, he made it a death sentence to practice such magics.”

“As her mentor, it was Loki’s responsibility to carry out the sentencing.” Frigga’s voice was soft, her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Volstagg was silent only momentarily before he recovered. He glared fruitlessly at Loki. “You lie…all know within the sound of your voice that you lie. Eilina loved me…all of me,” he shouted with angry insistent. He gestured eloquently at his large girth and smiled mirthlessly. “Even when this body betrayed me, growing into such unwieldy shape, still she loved me. And you took her away.” Untold grief was in his eyes and writ large on Volstagg the Voluminous’ face.

An indecipherable expression came and went on Loki’s face before his face was wiped of all semblance of expression. Eyes blank, he inclined his head. “As you say…”

Because she was watching, Natasha noted the strange look that flickered over Loki’s face. It took her a few precious seconds to dreg her memory of that look. It wasn’t one she had much dealings with. Then she was beset with a new puzzle.

Why would Loki pity Volstagg…or feel guilty? 

Although Thor leaned into Clint and whispered softly, “Volstagg was not always so large. Once upon a time, he was normal size.” Still, the Thunderer eyes reflected his growing disquiet and unvoiced questions. 

Overhearing that, her breath caught as the final piece of her Volstagg puzzle slotted neatly into place. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly...yet it was enough to capture Loki’s attention. He grimaced and looked down then back up. Expression pained, he slowly nodded. 

All this time, Volstagg hated and blamed Loki and worshiped at the altar of a dead woman. So determined to believe a lie, he completely denied the truth.

Those her face was impassive, Natasha conveyed a sense of grimness that Steve eyed with misgiving. 

Had one asked him but two years ago about his brother, he would have confidently stated he knew his brother’s mind as well as he knew his own. Yet he was now learning how little he knew of his brother…and how little he knew of his long time companions.


	6. Chapter 6

Sometime later, as the diners became replete with rich food, the atmosphere in the room shifted to one of reflection and congeniality. From a side door, a woman limped slowly into the room carrying a small table with strings. A servant walked behind her carrying a stool. Even as they turned to look at the musician, vague recognition stirred in the minds of only a few.

Fork lifted to her mouth, Sif stopped, her eyes widened in shock. Her tanned skin blanched of color as the musician settled herself carefully. 

Like a breeze through upper trees, hushed whispers filled the room. Odin and Frigga’s faces held slight smiles of polite interest as they each sat back in their chairs. 

Thor leaned forward, his face eager. He felt Midgardian music very much lacking. Some of the screeching hurt his ears. 

Ignoring the whispers, the woman began tuning her instrument. Gradually the whispers faded, though speculation was rife in many eyes. Pausing, the woman removed the heavy cloth from her head, allowing people for the first time, to look on her full. 

One woman let out a stifled cry of horror and shock, struggling to reconcile the left and right sides of the woman’s face. Stunned recognition filled their eyes people as belated recognition stirred—many a young warrior had sighed rapturously over the woman and struggled to write odes to her stunning beauty—it was her right side that drew nearly everyone’s attention and turned their stomachs.

For her right side was now horribly scarred. And where once, golden luxurious hair flowed like endless sunshine, now it was covered in gnarled and shiny scar tissue. 

There was strangely horrified yet angry murmur in the room, much like a human would at seeing the Mona Lisa vilely defaced with offensive symbols. With the ease of long practice, the woman serenely ignored the whispers. 

Let them see…she had long since immured herself to the face that fate deemed best. It was a fair exchange, she had slowly concluded. Truthfully, she felt she got the better bargain. She had found the hearts of two of the most loving men the Nine had to offer.

Loki swallowed heavily and looked away. Under the cover of the table, though her face held calm serenity, Frigga’s hand covered her son’s and held on tightly. With grateful desperation, he drew on her strength.

Thor stared at the woman, horrified. His disquiet so great, in the distance, thunder could be heard rumbling. Then slowly his eyes turned to Loki, the look in his eyes burning. He easily recalled the rumors of Loki and his reckless pursuit of Helan, the golden-haired singer—and her very public rejection of his advances. 

He had no idea how Loki found out about them, but soon after they became lovers, Helan disappeared from court and Asgard. 

It didn’t take long to know who to blame. Though he had no proof, still it had been obvious who had caused Helan to flee.

In front of everyone, he had beaten Loki bloody; tried to beat the jealous spite out of his brother. 

One of three rare female Bards, it was near sacrosanct to purposely cause harm to a Bard. Even a prince of Asgard was not so much above such public censure. But his brother had always thumbed his nose at convention, felt he was far too intelligent to be held to the standards of ordinary Asgardians.

Many had thought her dead, no one from Asgard having heard her for centuries.

Helan looked up, with one eye of startling crystal green the other clouded and dead. 

“I gift this song to a man I once scorned. From the fire…he saved me. When I could not speak…he spoke for me; when I could not walk…he propped me up and helped me walk. And when I could not cry…he cried for me. I live…because he refused to let me go. He remained by my side when I finally recovered voice enough to beg for death, to escaped the agony of my body. He held me, rocked me as he sang—most horribly by the way—to ease my mind. I think it was his singing that forced me to get better faster, if only to stop that horrendous noise.” The people laughed nervously, as everyone could attest to the prince’s horrible singing voice.

“With his magic, he repaired my body and with his love, he repaired my mind and showed me the way home.” She smiled brilliantly at Loki. “To you, I sing.”

Then she began. 

Transfixed by the lyrical, incredible sound that poured from her throat, it was several minutes before people noticed. The succeeding loud outcry almost drowned out her song. 

For Helan had done what few Bards in history had done…she had Transcend. 

It was such a rare phenomenon—in the history of Nine Realms—only four other bards had done. 

If a Bard achieves Transcension, they gain a Gift. One Bard gained the Gift to heal with his songs, another gained the Gift to speak mind-to-mind, while another’s gained the Gift to make mountains’ walk and with the fourth’s Bard, he gained the Gift that allowed him to communicate with animals.

Today, Helan displayed her Gift.

Loki’s mouth dropped open in unfeigned shock as did everyone else. Helan winked mischievously at him, finally having pulled one over on the famed Trickster. She had once rejected him, but he proved far more faithful to her than almost anyone else. To him, she owed her everything. Were it not for him, she would never have met Fenrir or had Jörmungandr.

When Loki had laboriously repaired her body—gave of his blood, sweat and tears—his magic did more than just heal her. 

For in human mythology they did get something right—Loki was a being of change. Because his want and unconscious need was so fierce and uncompromising, his magic did as it always did when let loose…it changed the object he was working on.

In other words, it changed her. 

Her songs became visual as well as aural tales. Painting the air with illusions—people walked, silently talked and laughed—as her haunting song filled the air. 

Her listeners were held spellbound, mouth agog and eyes wide as they saw and listened until the last quivering note hung in the air. There was some laughter, groans as many recognized themselves or an event they had been involved in. 

By the time the last note hung in the air—and the story told—no one looked directly at Sif. A silence, louder than words, filled the dining hall.

Head down, Sif had drank steadily through the evocative song, her darkening eyes on nothing as her mind drifted to the past. 

Unconsciously her hand rose and caressed the raven dark swath of hair that lay over her shoulder. In her mind, it was gold. 

She had such beautiful, golden hair.

Jealous rage winding about her heart at the sight of Prince Thor’s attention turning towards another beautiful, golden haired woman. 

“Lies…all know how Loki lies,” Sif cried out drunkenly, her face red with temper and burgeoning fear. “Tell them Fandral…tell them how Loki lies.”

But Fandral remained silent, as he had his own concerns. There was a damning illusion Helan’s Gift had drawn of he pressed against a wall by Hogun. While nothing explicit was revealed, there was no mistaking the look on his face. 

Helan smiled calmly before bending again to her instrument. Another song flowed from her lips, as well as the accompanying illusions. A song about a lady with an absentee lord who, while her husband was away, she was most welcoming to other men. The stableboy, the gardener, the butcher…and so many more. 

And the look on the woman’s face left no doubt what type of welcome the woman offered. 

More than one man carefully avoided Volstagg’s suspicious stare as the description of some of the men in the song bore a surprising likeness to them. 

As did almost all the children his wife had borne. 

 

Tony wasn’t too surprised that the feast ended in something like a bar fight.

But that was okay because It. Was. AMAZING! 

He and Clint gleefully sought a place out of the way, and mugs of some damn fine mead in hand, shouted hearty encouragement to the battling people. Fickle, they would switch sides between swallows of some bitching mead.

Steve was eternally thankful their boos and hisses towards Odin’s vain attempts to stop the fighting was lost in the clamorous din. 

Grimly he and Natasha—more pragmatic—grabbed their idiot friends and left the Asgardians to their joyous fighting. Besides, they all had some heavy thinking to do…at least once, Clint and Tony sober up. 

 

But for six people, the brawl that spilled out of doors was not glorious or any other joyful description of a fight. 

The Warriors Three and Sif chased a fleet-footed Loki. They knew they were ruined and they were grimly determined to exact revenge on the one they held responsible from their fall from grace. 

A goodly distance from Sif and the Three Idiots, Loki looked over his shoulder, a wild grin on his lips. The beating he would receive, he decided with malicious joy, would be worth it having finally saw the comeuppance of his long-time nemeses. 

Abruptly he ran into a brick wall. He bounce back with a muffle grunt and fell down.

Lightening lit the night sky, illuminating an enraged Thor. Eyes an incandescent white, and roused to near berserker fury, he raised Mjormjor high. Lightening rent the air, striking multiple time at the hammer’s head. 

Taking one look, the Warriors Three and Sif slid to a halt and tried to flee. Loki’s mouth gaped at seeing Thor so magnificently aroused to fury.

“KNOW PAIN!”

Lightening came down again and danced on the hammer’s head, with cold deliberation, Thor pointed the hammer at those he had once held close to his heart.

Bodies jerking spastically, screams rent the air. They collapsed like disjointed marionette dolls. 

Asgardians were successful at warring because they were durable and hard to kill.

Thor’s smile was more reminiscent of Loki at his darkest. He bared his teeth in dark joy. With a thunderous roar, he sent Mjormjor hurtling towards his former friends and followed, his fists, along with the hammer, weapons of retribution. In response to Thor’s rage, the sky opened. Lightening dance across the surface where Sif and the Warriors Three fought with Thor.

Eyeing the lightning strikes, Loki carefully crawled away. While he would love to see the rest, he felt discretion was the better part of valor. 

Once he was a safe distance, he quickly stood and took off running for the stables. Wonders of wonders, Sleipnir was bridled and saddled. Though he had gifted his first Mage Calling to Odin, he was pretty sure the king wouldn’t mind if he borrowed the creature…just for a tiny bit.

Gripping the reins, he put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over and stumbled to a confused halt in the middle of a forest. 

 

Back in Asgard, and alone in their chamber with the feasting hall finally emptied and the injured and critically wounded in the Healer’s Hall, Odin sat wearily on the bed. Silently he reflected on what he had heard tonight and sighed.

Hearing the raging storm outside, he sighed again. “Great…” he said tiredly.

Frigga, in turn watched her husband as she sat before her mirror removing the pins from the mass of honey-blonde hair piled upon her head. She regarded her husband in simple amusement. 

Men, she thought fondly. I am the All-Mother and sometimes naughty children must be spanked, she mused silently. Besides, as if I would allow those fools to continue to hurt my baby.

Unseen by her, Odin made a gesture with his hand. 

Thor and his former friends came to a confused stop as a sudden force thrust them apart. Thor looked around for his brother. Then slowly turned his attention back to his former associates. The bolt of lightning that lit Thor’s feral gaze signified that there was additional distance that still needed to be put between them and Thor. Like perhaps another realm or two.

They promptly staggered off into the darkness.

The last Thor saw of them as a blue glow surrounded them was their equally surprised faces as they vanished.

Odin eyed his lady wife in surprise. He cocked a thick bushy brow at her then they both began laughing.

 

Loki looked wildly around. 

An image shimmered into view. “Your mother and I expect you back for Winter’s Solstice,” Odin stated sternly, though there was a twinkle in his eye. The magic cancelling bracelets and collar Loki wore fell off with a muffled sound of metal on metal. 

The king looked somber and spoke gently to his wild, impetuous son. “Use your time wisely, child. You mother and I hope you will return ere then…there is much to discuss.” 

The image faded away, leaving Loki once again alone…and free…he was free!

Ecstatically Loki stretched out his arms and simply inhaled, laughing aloud as he felt his magic returning like a much love, faithful hound. Laughing, he hugged himself then flung an arm out. A tree burst into flames. Chortling, he beamed and stared at the familiar sight of green flames dancing on his fingers.

Suddenly a hawk launched itself skyward, screaming in joy. Then it became an eagle, followed in swift succession by a raven then back to a hawk before arrowing back to the ground. Before it hit the ground, there was a green shimmer and Loki rose to his full height.

He started to transport himself then stopped. 

Sitting on the ground, he thought long and hard about his freedom and who he was.

Long had he danced around the consequence of his actions….Would he remain better or worse than Sif and the Idiots Three? 

Sighing at the answer, Loki vanished from sight.

 

On Earth, over the next several weeks and months, buildings destroyed in the Chitauri invasion were mysteriously restored overnight. The people still in the hospitals were healed of their injuries and gold left conspicuously on their pillows along with a note of apology in flowing script.

Back on earth, Thor smiled proudly, a bit more swagger in his walk. There was now a more possessively proud emphasis when he spoke of ‘MY brother Loki…’

 

Tony watched the news report every night as another person was the beneficiary of gold. He sighed as he tossed several gold coins absently in his hand. He glanced at the neatly repaired window, the unearthly worlds it showed sometimes and turned off the television.

“He’s still a dick…” he muttered without heat.

 

EPILOGUE

Far away in Asgard, in a private room accessible to only a chosen few, Frigga sighed and waved her hand over her bowl of water. Lifting her hand, it was caught by Odin who kissed the delicate digits. “Happy now?” His eyes twinkled amusedly. 

Frigga rose gracefully from her seat and allowed her husband to escort her from the room. “Immensely,” she murmured with a smile. She slide a glance at him. “Now, we can work on getting the boys married.”

Odin looked askance at his wife. “Have anyone in mind, do you?” he replied dryly.

At the mysterious smile on Frigga’s lips, Odin groaned though his lips twitched with amusement, he had to concede it would be the ultimate trick. “Frigga…I forbid this.”

His wife laughed and sauntered away.

"Frigga, do you hear me? I said I forbid this...!" Odin chased into the hall after his wife . "I'm the king...you supposed to do what I say..."


End file.
